True Tails!
by Fayth85
Summary: If I believed in fate, I'd say she has a twisted sense of humor. Why else would I be brought against my will to this godless land they call 'civilization? SI Darkfic! PokéCentric!


**_True Tails!_**

_If I believed in fate, I'd say she has a twisted sense of humor. Why else would I be brought against my will to this godless land they call 'civilization'? SI Darkfic! PokéCentric!_

_"All vocalized speech is noted like this. Basically what any given human can understand."_

_(Anything brought over in a psychic fashion will be noted like this.)_

**"All vocalized speech that only a Pokémon can understand will be said like this. Humans would only hear the Pokémon saying their name, or making noises."**

_**Chapter 1: Down the rabbit's hole!**_

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I've never really believed in Heaven and Hell. I dunno, I just never had the luxury of caring too much about it, even as an Orthodox Catholic. It just never quite fit the bigger picture, you know? I mean, come on! The all knowing and ever patient God, sending his beloved children to burn in Hell for eternity? If he's so all knowing, then why didn't he just send us to Hell in the first place? And if he's so patient, then why make Hell to begin with?

Bah, who am I kidding. I do believe in Hell. Mostly because I've winnowed its coals most of my life. As for Heaven? Well, everything looks good when you're convinced you're already in Hell, am I right? I guess heaven is more of a state of mind. Not that it matters. Nope. Never has, never will.

Why? Cause no matter what you believe, you are faced with the same fate: death. Death. You know, there are probably more versions of what you experience after death than there are of where we came from. Why? Cause no one walks through life backwards – we tend to like to know where we're going.

Well, want to hear the secret from someone who's been there? There's nothing. Yup, you heard me, nothing. One moment of absolute clarity, just as you die – the famed 'light'. Then, there's nothing. Why you ask? Well, that's a very interesting question. Would you like the interesting answer, or just the real one?

Tough, cause I'm giving you the one I wanna give. The REAL answer is: I don't know. I don't know, because I only recently died. Don't worry though, it only hurt like hell. I kill myself sometimes! That's a joke. Hey, wanna know how to tell you're going to die in the next five seconds? When you can't feel the rib sticking out of your chest. Yup, a clear indicator to say your goodbyes.

Well, that or the encroaching darkness. But that's more of a biological thing than an actual religious or voodoo ritual or rite. Yeah, shockingly enough, biology has some say in the matter. Weird I know. Hey, you think doctors are the shaman of the twenty-first century? I mean, I can't understand half of what they say half the time – mostly because I ignore them the other half.

I mean, who cares if there's a Latin name for the common cold? If you can't cure it, don't name it! I want names to only apply to ailments that can be helped. That way, if you have something and your doctor says some funny name you've never heard of, you can say: "Oh good, then you know how to fix it!" instead of "Aw man, now I need to learn how to say that!"

"Hey Bob, I've got oh-man-I'm-gonna-die-itis. By the way, I screwed your sister. Go ahead, get mad. I'm gonna die anyway." Yup, that's a fun conversation to have. One I'll never get the chance to have. Yup. Dead. Gone. Pushing up daisies and all that jazz.

Yeah. Still dead… Well, this is kind of a let down. The Muslims were wrong, there are no forty virgins. Doctors are wrong, I didn't stop existing. Don't even ask what the Jews talked about, I don't speak Hebrew. And the Catholics? Paradise? Hmm… Inky blackness isn't exactly what I'd call 'paradise'. And I don't mean like black oil paint kind of black, I mean like poking yourself in the eye and can't see it kind of black. Maybe this is Purgatory then?

Oddly enough, I can't say I'm really panicking right now. Not because I don't want to. Because I really REALLY want to panic right now. Yeah. Can't. Or at least, I just can't find a way to confirm it. Tried screaming, didn't quite work. Tried thrashing about, yeah that kinda had the same effect. For some reason, I can't remember how to curse. I like cursing too. Nope, not on the agenda this time.

Ummm… maybe this is hell? Not cursing for eternity? That seems pretty disturbing, don't you think? And what about the big ol' court case I've been hearing about? You know the one where Christians get Jesus as a lawyer. Yeah, the one where he rubs elbows with his dad, the judge? Where'd that scenario disappear to?

Aw come on! Throw me a bone here! Helloooooo! Somebody! ANYBODY!

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I can hear something! It's soft and muffled, but it's there! HELLO! I try reaching out to the sound, try to reach for whatever source of life is out there. As weird as it sounds, I can actually sense life out there. Maybe it's just the fact that I've been trapped in this… void.

Not that reaching out really did anything for me, it was just nice to be able to… wait, can I FEEL something?! YES! I feel something! It's smooth, and seems curved. It feels AMAZING! Only, what is it? Maybe I should-

(Calm yourself.) What the…?! I know my ears didn't pick that up! (Fear not, little one. You shall come to no harm.)

There is something about that… voice? Something soothing. (Shall I tell you a story?) It's a woman's voice. I can't tell her age, or her background but I know the undertone. She's speaking to someone she loves dearly. Am I reliving a memory? Is my court case starting? It would have been nice if someone at least told me that the fate of my soul is about to be decided.

(There was once a kingdom, nestled upon the crown. The kingdom was governed by a wise and beloved king.) Her melodic tone… I can't compare it to anything I've ever known or experienced. It's as if she speaks directly to my heart. (One day the king turned to his most trusted advisor, asking about the meaning of life. His advisor smiled, as he tended to. My lord should go out and study his people, he's said. Study the people, and through them study the meaning of life.)

I'm not interested in the story itself, as interesting as it seems to be. No, that gorgeous voice holds all of my attention. I feel her smile without seeing her face. And there's a warmth in the air that wasn't there in her silence. She's allowing herself to be vulnerable to me, showing me that she means me no harm. I don't understand how I can even know that, but I do. I feel her desire to protect me as well. What is that?

(The first encounter was a young girl, barely two seasons old. She was happy and filled with the energy of youth. The little girl's mother warned her to be on her best behavior, smiling as bright at the afternoon sun.) I can actually see what she's talking about – like a movie being played out. I feel the sun on my skin, the wind on my face. I can taste the cold, dry air. It's gorgeous! Especially when you compare it to the never ending darkness before this started.

All too soon, the movie comes to an end, but the story doesn't. (The second encounter was a boy learning many things from his father.) This time I see a canine walking on its hind legs, wearing a baseball cap? Why is a jackal wearing a hat? You know those ancient Egyptian hieroglyph-type jackals? Yeah, them!

There's another one! Only this one's taller, and looks more serious. I can tell this one is the father, seeing as he's showing the shorter one something. He's holding his hands like he's holding a ball – right hand at his right side with the palm facing up and left hand 'holding the ball steady' with the palm facing down. Then he 'throws the ball'. Sure, he isn't actually holding anything, but that's what it looks like.

Neither of them seems to speak, but from the look in their eyes I can tell they are both saying a lot to each other. The son is unsure, but ready and eager to learn. The father carries himself as if he's done this all his life, carefully correcting every tiny mistake in his son as he teaches him.

This scene comes to an end as well. (The third encounter was two lovers, eager to hide from the world.) Two new beings come into view. They are very similar to the last two, making me wonder if the first scene didn't have beings like them as well.

There is a look in their eyes. His eyes are filled with lust, hers with love as deep as an ocean. They are playing, I think, tumbling in the grass like two children. He's begging her to let him go further. She's acting like she doesn't know what he's talking about, teasing him endlessly.

They look so happy together.

(The fourth and final encounter was with our only known predator.) A human comes into view this time. I look on in morbid fascination. This human is hunched over and looks like a Neanderthal. He's ugly as sin and twice as evil. I can literally feel darkness oozing off him as he thrashes about, trying to harm the king. Eventually the evil human takes out a ball a bit larger than his fist and throws it at the king. The king disappears.

(The king vanished for many years. When he eventually returned, he brought with him horrific tales of humiliation and servitude.) I see a proud jackal, having his nose rubbed into the dirt. He is forced to do everything the evil human told him to do. He is forced to fight, even when there is no reason for it. He is forced to eat whatever is placed in front of him, to sleep wherever he is told to.

It seems to me that he's being treated like a pet, a mangy mongrel of the worst kind. Even li'l cynical ol' me can't help but feel bad for him. Out of the blue, after everything the king has done, the human got fed up and tossed him out.

Alone, hungry and hurt, the king is forced to find his own way back to his kingdom. I can feel his mind churning tirelessly, trying to figure out what he'd seen. My heart went out to him… I know just how horrible human beings can be. Funny how you can find 'human' in 'humane', but you can't quite find 'humane' in 'human'.

When the king makes it back home, everyone that sees him rejoices. Everyone tends to his injuries, feeds him whatever he desires, caters to his every whim. (The king was never the same after that. He was much kinder to his people and he fought much harder to keep his people safe.) The scene ends, leaving only that familiar inky darkness behind.

(Rest, young one. The world shall wait a few weeks.) The voice started singing a song I've never heard before. Her voice is soft with tender emotion, her tone soothing as the ocean breeze.

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The voice comes back often. Each time a new story is told. Each time the same soft lullaby is sung. I can't help but wonder at the voice. Who is she? Why does she love me so? I know I've never met her before; I'm good at remembering details like that. I also know that she is talking to me directly – how I managed to figure that out is beyond me.

What I can say for certain though, is that something has changed. I'm beginning to sense things around me again, only not the way I used to. If I really focus, I can make out the form of a jackal, like in those stories she keeps telling me. The silhouette is completely blue though and it keeps shifting, almost like oceanic currents being trapped in a living glass statue.

Strangely, I only ever sense that being and myself. Oh yes, I can sense myself as well. Strangely, I'm completely different from her. Where her essence is calm and soothing, mine is wild and untamed. I know it can't be anything strange like life essence or some kind of soul gazing, because there is no cynical sarcasm anywhere in me – not that I'd know what that ever looks like, but don't miss the point!

I can move parts of myself now. Or at least, I notice that I can move it now. The more I look at this strange body I inhabit, the less sense the situation makes.

Three digits on my each hand. No opposable thumbs. There's also some kind of outgrowth just below my wrists too. I can't exactly feel it, but I sense it there. And I have three legs! Yeah, just one of them has no toes! What kind of freak am I? Am I malformed?

My legs – well, the ones with toes – have three segments now. Strangely they resemble the legs of those jackals in the stories. The only problem is that there is some kind of barrier keeping me where I am.

Blue seems to be the only color I can see as well – which makes no sense, but that's par for this course. Well, other than the ever present black. At least that's a color without life, unlike the bad guys in the stories I keep seeing – that shade of black is just … dark; evil.

There isn't a whole lot to do. Mostly I sit and wait for the voice to come back. Other than that, I just have a whole lot of time to think. Not a whole lot to think about, but I have so much time to think about it! Wow! Ain't that grand? Maybe I can ponder the mystery of life now? Sure. Never cared about Heaven and Hell, but I'm going to think about the Holy Grail of philosophers out there. Uh huh. I'm not _that_ bored yet.

I'm fairly certain that I've been reincarnated. Which makes about as much sense as everything else right now I'm afraid. Maybe I was sent back into time? Psh, everything is a step up from this void any way you look at it.

Well, let's see. What do I remember about my life before I died then? Not much. I just know that I hated it. Well, that's just dandy. Can't go back either, although I get the distinct impression that I wouldn't want to. Well, I guess life is being a great big meanie once again.

Can't go back, don't know where or even what I am. And going forward is impossible with this big ol' barrier keeping me here. Yeah this'll be fun, just as soon as 'fate' takes that butt plug out her rear and starts being nice to me.

(Why such emotion, young one?) She asks. I have no idea how to answer her. Even if I did, what would I say? I can't help but feel frustrated at the whole situation, not to mention powerless. Nothing makes sense. I don't know where I am, when I am or what I am. I don't remember enough from before to have something to go by.

I have this constant nagging feeling in the back of my consciousness that I'm forgetting more and more. And to add insult to injury, I don't even have someone to be mad at regarding the whole situation! There's just nothing.

(Rest, beloved.) Okay… that's kinda weird. She's never spoken like that before. (Tomorrow, Spring begins.) And then there was silence once again. She didn't even sing that lullaby for me this time. Maybe she's upset? Or sad? Why would she feel that way? Is it because of me? Did I do something wrong? Maybe she's unsure how to deal with me right now?

Fate. How I hate thee.

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I sit. I wait. I wait. I sit. Nothing happens. Nothing ever seems to happen. Why am I waiting? What am I waiting on? What am I waiting for? Is there something I don't know? There's always something I don't know. Maybe I need to push past that barrier? Change my life with my own hands?

Well, better than nothing? Still, I wonder what she meant with the beginning of Spring? Is there something significant about Spring? The beginning of life perhaps? Most young are born in Spring, but what does this have to do with me? I don't know. I don't understand. And the voice has yet to come.

Things aren't adding up. Some vague voice inside me is begging me to break through the barrier, but I'm unsure. Do I even want to know what's on the other side? Maybe staying here is the safer bet? Well, I've waited this long. Waiting a little longer won't do me any harm.

The voice. She's been avoiding me – I haven't sensed her once since her odd parting. Why? Why do I even care? What could that voice offer me anyway? People only try to harm me, that's why it's best to keep people at arm's length. If no one is close to you, no one can hurt you.

So why do I crave to hear that voice? I don't understand. So much I don't understand. (Young one. Spring has begun.) There she is! I feel my heart leap up into my throat, beating a hundred miles a minute. Something's wrong – she's sad. (Please, young one. Come out to me.)

While my heart soars, hers is dropping, almost to the point of breaking. She's deathly afraid for me. Why? What's going on? (Winter has yet to release her grip on the land.) She informs me, not hiding the tears in her voice. (I know you're strong, young one. Please.)

(Cey, this is why you mustn't do this.) A new voice? This one I've never heard before. (Do not get attached to what Nature may yet reclaim as Her own.)

(Silence! I will not have you speak of our offspring in that manner!) She's not upset, not exactly. She's afraid.

(Cey, listen to reason. If that egg does not hatch before the sun sets, the Weavile will try to claim it in your sleep.) There is no emotion in this voice at all.

(Then I will go without!) I am stunned at her words. Why would she do that for me? What is going on? And who is this other voice? (I will go without sleep. I will go without food. I will go without water. I will die if I must!)

Silence reigns for a time. I can't help be hear her words repeat over and over again, in my head if nothing else. I try to scan around me, hoping to see what's going on. All I sense are myself and the voice I recognize. It doesn't make sense. (Sleep, Cey. I will wake you before I go hunting.)

(Thank you, Fyore.)

(Do not thank me, beloved. Just don't make me regret this.)

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Things have been weird as of late. There have been almost no stories – and the few stories that she did tell, where short and dark. The king had been at war in most of them. That second voice never revealed himself again, and I am certain it was a 'him'.

The urge to tear through that barrier is almost overwhelming now. I feel the urge screaming at me during my every waking hour. And yes, I notice that the body I inhabit has its own unique sleep pattern. Still, I wait patiently.

I wait, not because I am afraid of what is out there. Out there could never be as cold and dark as 'back there' had been. No, I wait because there is something I must know. This voice, this woman… how deep does her love go? What little remains of my memory tells me that I have plenty reason to distrust people.

(Arceus, I beg you!) Her voice is back. Only this time, she sounds distraught. No, distraught isn't strong enough a word… she sounds broken. (Give her back to me!)

I tilt my head to one side, trying to make sense of that. Give who back to you? (I have lost three of my sons to humans! Do not let me lose my daughter to Nature! PLEASE!) The swirls of her blue are not as calm as they once were. She's grieving so deeply that I believe her soul might break. (GIVE ME MY CHILD!) My heart skips a beat. Her child? Am I her child?

Instincts are difficult to ignore, but it is not entirely impossible. Her heart's desire, on the other hand… I placed my oddly shaped hands on the barrier, feeling my heart drumming in my ears. I push. Nothing happens. Still I won't give up so easily. I push again, harder this time. Still nothing.

Deciding to throw caution to the wind, I start kicking the barrier. I kick, punch, shove. Anything that I think will help, but the barrier does not give in. Fine, you want it rough? I bring my knee to my chest, focusing on the tip of my foot. I take a long moment, doing nothing but focusing. I wait, and wait. Until… CRACK!

(FYORE! She's hatching!) Yeah, thanks for the update Mother Goose. I figured that my foot sticking clear out of this barrier thingy would make that obvious! And just so you know, my foot is COLD! It's like snow is making out with my foot!

Pulling my foot back into the warmth, I realize two things. The first was kind of the point – the barrier collapsed and fell on top of me. The second thing is that it's COLD IN HERE!

She reaches for me, taking me out of the remnants of the barrier I just shattered – including the piece that covered my head and therefore my vision. The first thing I see is big round eyes. Unshed tears weld up. Unshielded emotion on full display. (Welcome, young one.) Tears fall. She's crying just for me.

She hugs me to her chest. Her GINORMOUS chest might I add. She doesn't have oversized milk glands; it's just that she's big! I mean like HUGE! My whole body seems to be about the size of that spike coming out of her chest. She does take extreme care to keep me away from the spike, and the spikes on the back of her hands.

She's neither fragile, nor does she seem to think that I am. She's gentle. Exceedingly gentle. She's licking my face too. Her tongue is rough, but warmer than the freezer I find myself in. I feel the moisture of her tongue clinging to my fur, removing whatever is there that she wants gone.

Holy crap! I have fur on my face! Why is that amazing? Shouldn't I look like my own mother? She has fur, why shouldn't I? I don't know. This is a bit much right now. (Are you hungry?) Our eyes lock. A bit of a task if you ask me – it's hard to really see any actual detail, and everything my eyes perceive seems to come in black and white. She smells divine though.

Why do I feel so tired? I feel like I've run a marathon backwards with a blindfold on! TWICE!

Something is put into my mouth. It's soft and almost rubbery. My mouth works all on its own, suckling on the thing. Even though I'm already tired, my mouth doesn't care. I am rewarded with something bitter tasting. My eyes screw shut and my lips clamp down on the rubbery thing – recoil from the taste. It's really bitter!

Still, my tongue keeps working its magic. Before I know it, my eyes can't fight it anymore. I give into the encroaching darkness once more. Only… this time, I do so in her arms.

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My body feels heavy; like I at risk of sinking through the stone floor in our cave. It takes almost too much out of me to remain standing. Let's not even get started about my lack of balance. Everything is out of sync, everything is unbalanced. By some strange 'natural' decree, I am already walking. Strange considering I was just born – born again?

My mother keeps a constant eye on me. Not in a bad way – at least, not yet. I sometimes get the impression that she expects me to vanish into thin air. I don't really understand, but I keep hearing that decree the day I hatched. She mentioned losing her sons to humans… my brothers.

There are times when Mother has a look on her face, like she's remembering something that hurts. Her eyes lose focus, her pupils dilate slightly. When she gets like that, she can stare at nothing for hours, barely noticing that she's doing it at all. I can climb all over her when she's like that – clumsy though I may be – and she won't notice a thing. I've bitten her ears and licked her face, but that gets me no reaction whatsoever. The only thing that seems to get a reaction at all is when I sit and do nothing.

Yeah, I won't make that mistake twice. She reacted alright: she panicked! She jumped up, sniffing the air like she was expecting someone else there. She blurred though the cave, trying to find me and kill whatever had taken me. When I made a noise – some whiney sound that tends to jump out of my throat when I'm annoyed – she jumped on me. Literally.

It took her brain a second to realize it was only me, but that was enough time for me to know with absolute certainty that I never wanted her upset like that with me! I thought she was going to rip out my innards! Yeah, she was THAT kind of pissed.

Still, life with her isn't all bad. She tells good stories. And she tends to dote on me. I don't think dirt stands much of a chance in clinging to my fur with her around either – she likes bathing me five or six times a day. Well, I assume she licks every inch of me for the sake of cleaning.

There are a lot of things I don't get. Too many, really. But I know I'm safe with her. I just wish I could say the same with her lover.

Sure, he is _technically_ my father, but I don't really look at him in that light. He returns to our cave every five or six days with his latest kill. We'd share it between the three of us – him taking the king's share, while Mother and I survive off the scraps. I try not to linger on the fact that I'm eating someone's beloved, but I'm not always successful in that endeavour.

Today, just as every other time, he tells Mother to rest. (I'll mind the pup.) I can't really say if I'm happy about this or not. She nods, telling me to be good. She's asleep before she even lays her head on the fur she and I sleep on – I can tell by her light snores. Sometimes I wonder if she only sleeps when he's here.

Well, nothing is stopping Fyore now. As always, he picks me up and strolls out the cave. Mother tends to hold me to her side, supporting my weight with her arm. She almost never picks me up like that anymore though, telling me that I'm getting too big to coddle like that.

He likes to throw me on his back and dash off into the horizon. So either I hold on like my life depends on it, or I fall off. Well, I guess you could say that my life does depend on it, seeing that he always takes me down the trail leading down the side of the cliff. I'm pretty sure that I wouldn't survive that fall.

We travel down the trail until we reach some kind of plateau. It's still covered in snow, although he assures me each and every time that summer had long since begun. Not that I'd know. I only ever venture out the cave with him, and it's only while the sun shines.

As usual, he stops in front of a grove of trees and instructs me to get down. (We will begin with punches.) He informs me. I curl all six of my fingers, wondering how much this was going to hurt this time.

(ONE!) He calls out. I sigh quietly, punching the abused tree before me. Yeah, he always takes me to the same tree. And he always makes me beat the crap out of it. He calls off numbers to tell me how hard to hit. 'One' is a light tap and 'nine' is with all my strength. He always calls them out in some seemingly random pattern. I don't get it, but I still have bruises from the times I questioned him.

Well, to be fair, I can't SEE the bruises. I can still feel the pain though. (NINE! NINE! NINE! NINE!) I start huffing from the exertion. (SIX! EIGHT! THREE! TWO! THREE!) I keep punching the tree, my poor abused skin howling in protest.

(You're fists will toughen up in time. Now, we move on to kicks.) The same system is applied. He calls out a seemingly random number and I kick accordingly. Only, with kicks he calls them out in some vague pattern. I don't get it, but I don't care to.

Once he is satisfied, he motions for me to follow him away from the grove. As always, I study the way he walks. He's completely different from Mother with they way they walk. Her steps are jerky, graceless, whereas his are fluid and silent. She makes little distinction which section of her foot she uses to walk on. He only ever uses the three pads just under his toes. I'm not even sure if he knows he has a fourth pad near his heel.

(Assume the stance.) I bite back a sigh. He never just talks to me. If he speaks – or whatever he'd call the way his words reach my consciousness – it is for a reason. I space out my feet, only standing on the pads near my toes. I drop my left shoulder slightly and bring my hands together as if I want to grab a ball at my right side.

He once again starts calling out numbers, only slower this time. The higher the number, the longer I'm expected to 'force energy into the ball'. I don't really understand what he means, and I've told him so again and again. This is the part I usually end up with bruises – he is not a very patient teacher.

(What… en… er… gy?) I manage. I'm not good at speaking back to him, and my vocal chords seem all but useless.

(The same energy you use to talk. It's that blue stuff you sense. You need to focus on controlling that blue stuff into the ball in your hands.) He explains clearly. Well, clearer than every other time.

I try to focus the blue stuff into the space between my palms, but nothing seems to happen. (Good, just like that! Only more!) That makes no sense, nothing is happening! Still, if it pleases him… I force more and more of it into the supposed ball I'm holding. Still nothing happens.

Darkness came quickly after that.

#-#

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#-#

(What would you have me do? Abandon my children?!) I hear Fyore. Knowing that this will end up being something more than a little troublesome, I act like I'm still asleep.

(I won't mother pups you sired elsewhere.) Hmm, one plus one equals a cheating bastard. Facts of life, typical as it may be.

(Not to mother them.) I fight the urge to growl. What is he getting at? What is the point? Why is this happening at all? Why couldn't he stay faithful to Mother? Are they the reason he returns so infrequently?

(Then how will they eat? You barely bring enough scraps for Dryn and I.) Mother points out, which is hard to argue with. Unless Fyore is willing to eat less, we won't survive with two more mouths in this cave.

(I'll bring more food.) Well, that solves everything now doesn't it? Good to know that it was never an option before. (They will be guarding her and they will teach her while I hunt. This way you can rest more.)

(You've never once called her by her name. Why?) Because he doesn't see me as his child. I still recall the 'sense' he was trying to talk into Mother before I hatched, something I never forgave him for.

(I will take her hunting with me this time. I will bring the boys with us when we return.) Mother growls at him, clearly in no mood to see me go. (Cey, watch your tone.) Fyore warns, his tone dark.

(I… won't… go.) I manage. I hate that I can barely offer more than a syllable without taking a pause.

(…) Both of them turn to me. She's hurt that I had to hear any of this, but he's pissed that I would defy him.

(She'll go.) She crawls back, probably to prevent him from striking me. It wouldn't be the first time he's struck me for something I have no understanding of. (But understand this well, Fyore. If Dryn is not back within seven nights I will hunt you down.)

(We leave at dusk.) He says. He seems completely unfazed by her death threat – and I can tell by her slight growl what it truly is.

#-#

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#-#

Fate, a fickle mistress she is. Fyore carries me down the trail, once again on his back. I can just barely make out our training grove in the distance, but he doesn't go that route. This time, we go further down the cliff.

With the sun completely set, I suppose I should make out fewer details. This proves false, though. I can count the trees in the distance, but I cannot identify them – a feat I can't do in the daylight either. No matter how much time passes, my eyesight does not improve. Not this evening; not in the time since hatching.

However, I can smell the trees in the distance. With the sun gone, their scent is less spread out. Somehow this helps me to identify each tree individually – not that I'd know their names regardless.

Every now and again, Fyore would stop dead in his tracks. Whenever he does this, he follows a set pattern: sniff, sniff, scan. I know this, because I hear him sniffing the air to sense what's out there. And whenever he scans, his black ears perk up a bit. Yeah, strangely enough Mother and Fyore have three pairs of ears – or ear like things at least. The dark gray pointy ears atop their head can twist towards a sound to identify it's location in relation to theirs. I do notice that Mother tends to wear these ears lower whenever Fyore is in the cave with her too – I think it's either to show that he's the alpha, or that she's scared of him. One or the other… or both.

Just below that, where human ears are normally attached, are two long black pairs of ears. They kind of resemble a tennis ball stuck in a sock that is sown to the sides of their heads. Well, whenever they scan, those black ears stick up a bit, going nearly horizontal.

I only have two pairs of ears. The gray pair atop my head, and a single pair of black ones. Strangely, the black pair is less sensitive than the blue pair. Whenever Mother licks at the base of the gray pair, my leg twitches excitedly. It's a wonderful feeling that I can't get enough of. However, there is no such reaction with the black pair. They feel hard as rock and seem just as heavy – part of the reason I can't seem to balance properly.

Eventually we reach the base of the cliff, and Fyore dashing into the tree line in the distance. He seems unwilling to stay out in the open longer than needed. Once we reach the first tree, he jumps up and into the foliage.

I can't help but wonder at the fact that everything is black and white. If it wasn't for my sense of smell, I wouldn't even know that those knobby things that keep knocking against my skull are berries.

(We rest.) He whispers. I tilt my head to one side, wondering why he thought I couldn't figure that out. Or why he would bother telling me that, seeing as he's doing all the running!

I look up, seeing the moon high in the night sky. It's the only light I can see, seeing as the leaves are blocking out the smaller lights I'd been admiring all night.

As strange as it sounds, we've been keeping the rising moon to our right. I think he wants to stop now, because the moon is too high to tell left from right with it. With nothing better to do, I sniff around, trying to identify everything around me. I know these berries, since Fyore brings them back sometimes – if he comes back without a kills. Still, these smell a bit off. I doubt they're ripe. Especially considering the fact that this tree is filled to the brim with them! No one would pass up that much fruit unless it wasn't ripe yet.

I'm half tempted to ask, but I doubt he'd be willing to entertain 'another stupid question'. So I file it away to ask Mother about it later. I wonder if Mother is sleeping right now. She usually gives me a bath around this time – bedtime preparations, she calls it. Finding no reason not to, I start licking myself clean. I can do it quietly for the most part, so I doubt it'd present a problem to Scrooge O'Funkiller.

Just like Mother, I start with my hands. I lick my palms, between my fingers and the back of my hands. I'm careful to lick each spot at least three times – something Mother is adamant about.

After that I work my way up my forearms to my elbows. Then up to my shoulders. I can't lick my chest area, neck or face, so I like my palms until their wet and rub those areas that way. It's much less effective, but it beats skipping them. I clean my legs next, working my way from my toes up to my crotch. I always found it incredibly awkward whenever Mother cleans me there – remnants of my thought pattern before hatching. Still, it needs cleaning like every other spot, so cheers!

"Hn." I look up from my ministrations, wondering why Fyore made a noise. He's gazing at me, unblinkingly. I tilt my head to one side, unsure what to make of his odd behaviour. He just keeps gazing at me – or is he staring. Well, he's not saying anything, so I get back to my bath.

Once I'm satisfied that I'm clean, I go back to doing nothing. I'm tempted once again to ask about those berries, but decide against it. Time tends to trickle by when bored, so it takes forever for Fyore to indicate for me to climb on his back once again.

We jump down from the tree branch and he takes his time to sniff and scan again. I look around, at the odd scenery. There seems to be a cave over to the left, not unlike the cave we left behind. There are also a lot of footprints in the snow surrounding us. Some look like circles, others like blocks. I notice that Fyore's footprints are unique among them.

His prints are small, almost muffin like in form. His three pads make a deeper dent into the snow. I have no doubt that if someone was to look for them, they'd be able to track him for miles just by those unique prints – let alone smell!

Deciding to try my hand at his tactic, I sniff the air. After filtering out his scent, I notice that there are dozens of trails in the air. There's that bear with a ring on his belly – Fyore's favoured kill. I can also smell a Sneasel – one of the few names Fyore taught me. There's also that fatty plant like beast I love eating… It smells like fresh dirt and old snow for some reason.

Then I try scanning. It takes up a lot of energy, so I won't be scanning as much as Fyore. There isn't any living being nearby, but I can make out a small crowd in the distance. I flick my ears in that direction – in front of us and to the left – and hear telltale signs of a battle. I turn my attention back to Fyore, who is clearly listening to the battle for some reason.

(Human. Ursaring. Snover. We avoid.) He informs me. Oh, that's what the plant thing is called? Snover? Yummy! I'm getting hungry just thinking about it.

We keep to the ridge of the cliff, going around the fight and keeping completely out of sight. I notice that he is stopping three times as often now to sniff and scan, probably on high alert. The further we go, the more my nose picks up human scents. Dozens of trails, leading every which way! My instincts are screaming at me to run and hide, keep as far away from those humans as humanly possible! As little sense as that makes.

We head further and further away from the cliff that I've barely even come to know. And the further we go, the more human trails I pick up. I'm beginning to think that Fyore's lost his mind – not that I'm sure he ever really had one.

This time we are following the moon. Which makes no sense! Why did we keep the rising moon to our right, only to take a left and start chasing the setting moon? Still, he soldiers on. And since I'm just along for the ride, I have no choice but to follow.

We eventually make our way away from the human trails, following the ridge through a tight curve to the right. He keeps that heading, staying out of sight. It must have been close to an hour later that we reach another cliff. Below us, I see countless trees. From the scent of them, they aren't trees I've ever encountered before.

(We camp in that tree.) He's pointing at a random tree down there. I wonder why he's explaining this, but I figure he's just in the mood for it. (We hunt at first light.)

I tilt my head to one side. Is he crazy? I've never battled anything in my life! Let alone killed something!

Without wasting another word, he starts making his way down the cliff side. Somehow I just know I'm going to hate this.

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After a short nap – something that short isn't sleeping – we get up with the rising sun. For some reason, he seems quite chatty right now. (So what you want to do is sneak up on them. If you get in the first blow, you are that much more likely to come out the victor.)

He's having me practice on a poor hat-like creature. I can't tell its gender, but I know that horrified cry. I feel bad for it, but Fyore keeps ordering me to pounce. Luckily I'm not instructed to harm it; it's more about practicing for the hunt right now.

"Sno-o-o-o-o-o-o-o." My heart goes out to the poor creature. I purposely mess up my pounce, and it runs off.

(OH NO, YOU DON'T!) Fyore vanishes into thin air, reappearing in the poor thing's trajectory and kicks it back to me. I catch it, trying to minimize the damage. (Alright. Time to move on. You want to mate it, kill it or release it?) I tilt my head, wondering what's wrong with him.

I let the poor thing go, watching it run off and disappear into the snow. (The next one is the real thing. You will kill it.) I'm informed.

We travel a ways, before we come across something that he thinks is 'right for my level'. A teddy bear look-a-like. I can smell from it's urine that he's a guy – stronger scent and obviously testosterone mixed in.

Fyore motions me forward, wordlessly reminding me to go for the kill this time. The bear is digging into the snow, obviously trying to hide its kills – from the scent, it's the same creature I just had a scuffle with. Poor thing. Well, eat or be eaten. That's life.

I sneak up behind my prey, being careful to stay downwind and silent as death. I hear a muffled cry. "Sno-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o." The next thing I know, the bear starts thrusting his hips back and forward at a fevered pace. I tilt my head to one side. I think I know what he's doing, but those two could never produce an offspring. They're not from the same species! Why would he…

Fyore's words come back to me. Mate, kill or release. That's what it comes down to? What's _natural_ about that? I feel my blood boil at the thought that someone will try that with me one day. Deciding to make this quick, I wait for the moment the bear's thrusting pauses… Wait for it… wait for it…

The teddy bear spasms, his whole body jerking in every direction at once. I dashed behind him, grabbing his shoulder and chin and I twist. The loud CRACK tells me all I need to know.

I drop his body on the ground, disgusted with the creamy white goo gushing out from between the trembling creature's legs. I take a long moment to study her, now that I have the time. She's wearing what looks like a hat-styled cloth around her body, covering everything but a portion of her face and her arms and legs. Her stubby little appendages make her look slow and pretty incapable. Her eyes are bright through, as is the hat she wears. The only trouble is, her scent is now so intertwined with her deceased and undesired lover.

(Shall… I… end… it?) I ask. She looks up at me, tears in her eyes. She's afraid. She's broken. I motion towards the heap that was on top of her, trying to indicate that I can offer the same restful sleep to her.

"Runt." She answers. And that means? I turn to Fyore, hoping for a translation.

(Pokémon Law states that if you defeat her, you own her. What you wish to do with her is up to you.) He's amazingly not vague. Interesting.

I let the situation roll through my skull for a bit. I let her go before, and she got raped and almost eaten. She's a mess right now, so she won't defend herself very well – not that she was doing a bang up job of that before. I mean, *I* defeated her!

Our eyes meet. I can tell that she's doesn't want to die, but with how broken her eyes are I doubt she'd be very good at living either. (She… comes… I… own.)

(Keep in mind, that whether she eats is now on you.) Fyore says. That throws me for a loop. Um, what would she eat? Well, I won't figure it out just standing around here. And I'm hungry!

I turn to the fallen bear, wondering if his death was painless. Technically he died every male's ideal death: he came, he went. Somehow I can't feel sorry for this one, even if it's my first kill. He deserves his fate.

(Before you dig in, make sure to thank him for his sacrifice.) Fyore informs me. I turn to him, tilting my head to one side. Do I look like a veteran hunter? Instead of answering me, he claps his hand together and bows his head. I hear him muttering something under his breath, but it's in Basic – some weird language Mother told me that all Mew's children learn.

**"Aja Miu na-uo mianto."** Yes, that makes perfect sense. (It means: "Son of Mew, thanks be to you." More or less.)

I try to repeat his odd and strangely fluent words. What's weird is that somehow they roll off my tongue, like it's the most natural thing in the world. I wonder about that. A language all Mew's children learn.

Well, no point in worrying about it for now. I'm hungry and I don't want a cold meal. I turn to the little hat like creature… I think Fyore called her a Pokémon? Or was he talking about Law of Pokémon? Whatever. I motion for her to dig in too, but she stares at me in disgust. Well, more for me.

I bite into its arm. The dead have no gender, no name. The dead either serve as food, nothing more. Food for the predator, or food for Mother Earth and her countless floral offspring.

It's a menial and time consuming task to rip through the fur and hide. Once it's done though, I am both appalled and appeased to see stagnant blood and warm, welcoming muscle tissue. I bite into my meal, careful to avoid the brown, tasteless fur.

The once white snow steadily darkens as I gorge on the spoils of battle. Bite by bite, I feel my hunger ease – the growling void in my belly that has plagued me for months, eases with it. I want to feel disgusted with myself, but knowing that I will live to see another day silences that sentiment.

Once I've had my fill, I turn to Fyore, offering him a go as well. No reason for it, other than common courtesy. He shrugs, showing no interest. I thought he liked this type of meat. Maybe it's the pride of catching his own kill. Who knows, or cares.

(Where… to?) I ask Fyore, wondering if we have to start heading out again. He shrugs, probably not expecting me to learn this so quickly. He shrugs again, walking in a seemingly random direction – keeping the rising sun to his right. There is something in that direction, something important to him. I don't understand his behaviour, and I certainly don't get the reason why he's taking me to meet two sons he sired elsewhere.

I should be mad with him. I should never speak to him again. But somehow, I can't bring myself to care. If he can mate with a meal before killing it, who's to say he holds Mother or myself dear to his heart?

Either way, it's pointless to worry about. Fyore won't change his ways because I will it. I take my time bathing myself, making sure to get the darkening blood off my fur, before grabbing the little hat that now belongs to me. Hm, I'll have to think of a name for her. As I speed up to catch up with Fyore, I piggyback my new pet, wondering what I'm going to do with her.

Well, to be fair… I wonder what I'm going to do with Fyore as well.

**End Chapter 1**

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**_A/N: And so we begin another weird and definitely non epic journey through my sick and twisted psyche. Yup, those reading this, you've been warned! But then, anyone who's read my work knows that something is wrong with me anyway :P_**

**_I've tried to keep the gore to a minimum, but to be honest I think that this is going to get pretty gruesome at some point. Don't count on this story being rose coloured, or daffodil fragranced. This is a wild Pokémon with human level intelligence, a brutal alpha male teacher/father and a mother that has a natural dislike for humans. This will _****_not_****_ end well if you think this is a happy-sappy story._**

**_Interesting side note: There is a legend in Pokémon that says that all Pokémon and humans descended from Mew. Some debate that only Pokémon did, some think humans did as well. Seeing as this is a PokéCentric fic, I'm going with the all roads have the same destination theme – meaning that all species, humans included, were cut from the same cloth. _**


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